THE 


CHALICE  of  the  CHIPPED  RUBY 


J.  Christian  Bay 


TYp 


I  /  • 


The  Chalice  of 
The  Chipped  Ruby 


The  title-page  was  designed  by 
Axel  T,  Bay 


THE  TORCH  PRESS 

CEDAR  RAPIDS 

IOWA 


To  the  Memory  of 
Vilhelm  Bergsoe 

Poet  of  Romantic  Memories 

Whose  Inspiration 

Blossoms  Again 

In  Some  Of 
These 

Paees 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/chaliceofchippedOObayjrich 


INCEPTION 


INCEPTION 

The  Abbot  of  Bethany  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  smiled  pleas- 
antly at  the  words  of  praise  and 
wonder  which  fell  from  the  lips  of 
his  protestant  visitor. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "it  is  a  matter  of 
management  and  of  government. 
Government  by  mutual  agreement. 
But  a  Trappist  monastery  is  not 
built  in  the  wilderness  by  the  ex- 
ercise of  these  alone.  It  is  a 
growth  —  a  spiritual  growth,  first 
and  last.    Without  that,  this  com- 

[9] 


munity  would  not  keep  together 
for  five  minutes." 

^^But  the  world  is  bound  to  look 
for  the  man  behind  the  work,"  re- 
turned the  visitor.  ^^There  you  have 
a  group  of  fine  buildings,  an  im- 
mense farm,  a  corps  of  skilled 
workers, —  an  organization  pro- 
ducing results  which  any  business 
house  would  find  it  hard  to  dupli- 
cate. You  all  live  under  the  sever- 
est rule  ever  devised  for  human 
conduct,  yet  you  all  are  perfectly 
content,  even  cheerful.  But,  Rev- 
erend Father,  what  becomes  of  the 
men  whose  souls  conquered  this 
American  wilderness?  Their 
lives,  their  ambitions,  their  human 

[lO] 


interest  in  profiting  by  their  labor, 
building  up  a  reputation,  a  future 
for  themselves  —  what  becomes  of 
all  this?" 

The  monastic  house  where  this 
conversation  took  place,  hardly 
seemed  the  proper  locality  for  the 
solution  of  a  modern  social  prob- 
lem. An  hour's  ride  by  rail  from 
a  city  teeming  with  modern  activ- 
ity, each  man  for  himself,  all  striv- 
ing, as  it  were,  to  consume  the 
Earth  rapidly  and  completely;  — 
then  the  green  hills  and  the  forest- 
clad  knobs,  and  beyond  the  forest 
a  stone  wall ;  and  behind  this  stone 
wall  a  mighty  monastery,  grand, 
appalling,  venerable  as  the  very 

[II] 


spirit  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The 
Abbot  himself,  in  his  white  Cis- 
tercian cowl,  despite  the  modernity 
of  his  desk  and  the  office  furniture, 
would  have  fitted  well  into  a  simi- 
lar milieu  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury. Immortal  books  and  pictures 
looked  out  from  every  corner,  all 
colors  were  subdued  as  by  age.  Sun- 
light fell  into  the  room  through 
latticed  windows.  Beyond  lay  the 
garden,  quiet,  with  shaded  walks; 
the  huge,  noiseless  monastery  rose 
above  and  beyond,  peopled  by 
scores  of  silent  men:  Everything 
indicated  the  past  and  not  the  pres- 
ent, ancient  France  or  Italy  rather 
than  modern  America. 

[12] 


The  Abbot  still  watched  his  vis- 
itor with  a  curious  little  smile. 

^^Suppose  I  say  to  you  that  the 
Trappist  believes  all  these  things 
— true  and  perfect  manhood, 
strength  and  happiness  —  will 
come  to  him  only  when  he  puts 
behind  him  every  ambition  of  ad- 
vancing his  opportunities  in  this 
world,"  he  observed.  ^^Suppose  I 
say  that  he  regards  the  common 
view  of  life  as  a  hindrance  rather 
than  a  help  in  attaining  a  higher 
and  more  urgent  ideal.  Will  you 
understand?  You  may  not  under- 
stand, yet  you  are  free  to  look  into 
our  community,  because  if  you 
have  an  eye  for  truth,  you  will  find 

[13] 


us  possessing  much  blessing  fool- 
ishly renounced  in  the  World  — 
as  indeed  we  confess  to  renounce 
nearly  everything  that  the  World 
prefers.  Fanaticism  —  yes,  but 
with  an  opportunity  for  the  pleas- 
ure I  now  enjoy:  this  visit." 

^^Yet  your  life  seems  unreal  in 
this  age  and  civilization.  All  so- 
cial forces  move  in  other  direc- 


tions." 


"Why  unreal?"  said  the  Abbot. 
"Here  is  a  large  estate  which  we 
exploit  by  the  most  modern  and 
approved  scientific  methods.  Each 
one  of  us  does  his  full  day's  work 
and  contributes  his  share  to  the 
upkeep  of  our  community.     In  re- 

[14] 


turn,  the  community  protects  his 
ideals.  Is  it  so  very  unreal  to  con- 
fess to  the  spiritual  and  material 
benefit  of  a  life  in  silence,  restraint, 
and  servitude?  Are  these  less  real 
than  loquacity,  exploitation  and 
selfishness?" 

"But  you  miss  so  much — " 
"Yes,"  interposed  the  Abbot 
with  a  smile,  "and  so  do  you.  All 
over  this  magnificent  land  people 
sow  and  reap  —  and  leave  their 
fields  and  farms  as  soon  as  the  re- 
sources are  drained  to  the  utmost. 
Here  we  add  to  the  fertility  of 
every  acre  year  by  year, —  as,  with- 
in ourselves,  we  grow  better  fitted 
for  our  own  future  life." 

[15] 


"True,"  admitted  the  visitor, 
"but  you  might  do  all  this,  and  yet 
remain  in  the  world,  instead  of 
segregating  yourselves  completely 
from  it." 

"We  are  in  the  world,"  replied 
the  Abbott,  " — very  much  so.  We 
take  every  advantage  of  it,  except 
personal  gain.  We  believe  it  is 
due  to  the  dignity  of  life  that  our 
souls  act  and  at  last  may  depart  in 
this  form  of  peace." 

"I  think  you  will  pardon  us  out- 
siders. Reverend  Father,"  said  the 
visitor,  "if  we  doubt  the  possibility 
of  putting  aside  all  the  preferences 
of  the  world.  I  go  about  this  beau- 
tiful Abbey  with  the  wish  in  my 

[i6] 


heart  to  preserve  it  and  to  add  to 
its  dignity — but  also  wondering 
whether  the  rules  of  your  Order 
and  the  spirit  of  the  place  will  al- 
ways secure  your  ideals  from  being 
chipped  by  contact  with  current 
events  and  with  the  natural  re- 
bounds of  your  human  feelings." 

The  Abbot  rose  and  put  his 
hand  on  the  visitor's  shoulder. — 
''My  dear  friend,"  he  said,  "I  feel 
the  same  doubt  every  day.  We  all 
do.  Let  me  show  you  how  I  was 
reminded  of  it  only  this  morning." 

He  turned  and  opened  a  cup- 
board in  the  wall.  From  there  he 
took  a  magnificent  golden  chalice 
and  set  it  on  his  desk.    It  was  a 

[17] 


beaker  of  noble,  classic  lines, 
gracefully  tooled  with  ornaments 
and  sacred  symbols.  It  rested  up- 
on a  broad  circular  base,  and  in 
this  foot-piece  were  inserted  four 
gems,  a  diamond,  a  sapphire,  a  to- 
paz, and  a  ruby. 

*What  a  beautiful  chalice!"  ex- 
claimed the  visitor. 

**It  is  one  of  our  ordinary  chal- 
ices," explained  the  Abbot.  ^Tor 
solemn  occasions  we  have  other, 
much  finer  pieces.  This  is  for  gen- 
eral use.  It  might  exemplify  any 
of  us,  the  members  of  this  little 
community.  Surely,  flesh  and 
blood  created  in  God's  image,  may 
be  compared  with  gold.    The  jew- 

[i8] 


els  are  a  gift  from  my  mother- 
house,  Tre  Fontane,  near  Rome. 
—  Do  you  see  anything  peculiar 
about  this  chalice?" 

The  visitor  looked  closely,  turned 
the  chalice  about  and  looked  again, 
but  shook  his  head. 

^^The  ruby  is  chipped,''  said  the 
Abbot.  ^^Look  again,  and  you  will 
observe  the  flaw.  Yes,  it  is  chipped 
on  one  side.  Some  careless  fellow 
has  done  this,  probably  in  the  fac- 
tory where  the  stones  were  set,  or 
when  it  was  polished.  We  never 
observed  the  flaw  before.  Only 
this  morning  did  I  discover  it.  You 
will  agree  that  anything  which  en- 
ters into  the  service  of  the  Lord 

[19] 


ought  to  be  free  from  blemishes. 
And  this  is  the  lesson  I  learned 
and  now  am  reminded  of:  We 
may  discover  any  minute  some 
weak  spot  in  our  armor  of  sup- 
posed firmness.  Now  you  know 
the  main  cause  of  our  silence  and 
seclusion:  We  live  by  faith,  but 
our  very  faith  impels  us  to  fear 
being  chipped,  as  you  said,  in  con- 
tact with  the  World.  We  may  dif- 
fer on  many  points,  but  none  of  us 
cares  to  be  found  with  a  flaw.  Ev- 
en you  men  of  the  world  do  not 
wish  to  expose  yourselves.  When 
you  are  caught  unawares,  it  at  least 
involves  a  waste  of  time.    To  avoid 

[20] 


exposure  —  this  is  one  lesson  of  this 
Chalice  of  the  Chipped  Ruby!" 

The  guest-master  conducted  the 
visitor  to  the  pleasant  room  named 
after  S.  Olberich,  and  left  him  to 
his  meditations.  Needless  to  say- 
that  these  circled  about  the  chalice 
and  the  ruby.  How  had  the  ruby 
become  chipped? 

The  meditations  grew  into  fan- 
cies, the  fancies  took  definite  shape. 

Here  follows  the  story  of  the 
ruby. 


[21] 


EXPLICATION 


EXPLICATION 

I 

"He  gave  this  to  you.  — And 
what  then?" 

A  fly  might  have  buzzed  about 
the  window  panes  in  the  sewing- 
room  where  Dorothea,  Niels 
Trolle,  of  Borglum  Castle,  had 
summoned  her  daughter  Els- 
beth.  But  no  fly  was  buzzing.  The 
mother  had  stopped  her  ebony 
spinning  wheel  and  sat,  hands 
folded,  bending  a  glance  of  severe 
scrutiny  upon  the  girl.       On  the 

[25] 


tiny  work  table  at  her  elbow, 
nestled  in  a  mass  of  magnificent, 
shimmering  flax,  lay  a  heavy  gold 
ring,  shaped  as  a  fish  with  jaws 
wide  open.  The  jaws  held  a  ruby, 
and  its  dull  splendor  came  and 
went  with  the  play  of  the  shifting 
sunlight  through  the  green,  leaded 
window-panes. 

"And  what  then?" 

The  wrinkles  of  the  elder  lady's 
forehead  deepened  with  impati- 
ence. Absolute,  unquestioning 
obedience  was  a  child's  first  duty 
in  the  fifteenth  century,  yet  Els- 
beth  seemed  stubborn.  Early  that 
morning  at  fast-break,  the  girl  had 
pulled  a  handkerchief   from  the 

[26] 


snowy  folds  of  her  white  bodice; 
and  a  ring  had  rolled  out  on  the 
table.  Not  a  word  was  said  then, 
but  when  mother  and  daughter  af- 
terward retired  to  their  customary- 
work  in  the  sewing-room,  Elsbeth 
knew  that  the  hour  of  reckoning 
had  come. 

Monsieur  d'  Obrange,  the 
French  master,  had  spent  an  hour 
of  painful  discomfort  after  that  fa- 
tal fast-break.  When  the  stroke  of 
seven  sounded  from  the  grey  tow- 
er above  the  moats,  and  Elsbeth 
failed  to  appear  for  her  usual  les- 
son in  the  library,  he  fell  into  that 
brown  reverie  which  unpleasantly 
envelops    every    man,    even    the 

[27] 


strongest,  when  Fate  seems  to  ov- 
ertake him;  and  there  he  sat,  hand- 
some, sincere,  serious,  a  soft  light 
in  his  eyes,  as  the  heavy  oaken  door 
creaked  open.  Old  Jacob  TroUe 
entered.    The  door  banged. 

Behind  the  closed  door  of  the 
library  the  old  nobleman  raged  and 
roared.  But  the  walls  of  Borglum 
Castle  were  proof  against  bullets 
and  impervious  to  angry  men's 
awful  words.  No  echo  of  the  con- 
flict penetrated  to  the  little  sewing- 
room  behind  the  gyneceum. 

—  Elsbeth  lifted  her  head  and 
looked  straight  into  her  mother's 
eyes.  She  feared  their  grey  shade 
of  severe  authority,  but  she  also 

[28] 


knew  that  nothing  could  be  gained 
by  parrying.  The  answer  came 
promptly: 

*We  plighted  our  troth." 

Long,  lingering  shafts  of  sun- 
light shot  across  the  tiled  floor.  A 
starling  sounded  his  flute  some- 
where. Then  from  the  courtyard 
below  came  a  muffled  tramp  of 
horses  and  men  in  wooden  shoes. 

"Mother,"  resumed  the  girl, 
"Frangois  is  good  and  noble,  and 
he  knows  —  oh,  ever  so  much.  He 
has  traveled  all  over  Europe,  in 
search  of  knowledge.  And  if  his 
father  consents,  he  will  make  his 
home  here.    He  said — " 

"And  you  listened  to  him,  know- 

[29] 


ing  that  you  are  plighted  to  our 
neighbor's  son,  good  Marquard 
Podebusk,  who  now  serves  His 
Muscovitic  Majesty  with  his  wits 
and  his  good  sword,  and  will  re- 
turn to  claim  her  from  your  fath- 
er's hand.  Why,  child,  you  knew 
this  ever  since  you  carried  bib  and 
apron." 

"But  Mother!" 

"Speak  when  you  are  asked!  — 
You  know  it  cannot  be.  Life  is 
long.  You  will  forget.  You  will 
— "  and  her  beautifully  molded, 
energetic  hands  smothered  the 
shining  cascades  of  flax,  "you  will 
think  better,"  she  continued,  pen- 
sively, as  the  sweet  young  face  be- 

[30] 


fore  her  grew  more  pathetic  to 
look  at,  "  —  and  prove  yourself  a 
nobleman's  child.  No  power  on 
Earth  —  " 

Something  had  struck  the  hard 
tile  floor  with  a  clinking  jar.  It 
was  the  ring.  Elsbeth  quickly  re- 
covered it. 

^^Oh,  Mother!"  she  cried.  ^Tou 
chipped  the  ruby.  Francois  told 
me  this  ring  was  the  last  gift  from 
his  mother,  when  he  left  his  home 
in  France.  — Oh,  what  shall  I  do! 
Who  will  help  me!" 

She  flung  herself  on  the  floor, 
beside  her  mother's  seat,  in  a  wild 
outburst  of  misery. 

Once    more    the    old,    capable 

[31] 


hands  became  restless,  but  this  time 
they  stroked  the  soft,  live  masses 
of  the  girl's  hair,  scarcely  less  re- 
splendent than  the  flax,  but  infi- 
nitely softer.  She  stirred  as  if 
moved  by  a  thought,  but  somehow 
the  words  died  within  her. 

Then  the  stillness  below,  hither- 
to merely  dented  by  the  chirp  of 
restless  tomtits  in  the  foliage  about 
the  ancient  walls,  was  rudely  brok- 
en. Chains  rattled,  the  heavy 
draw-bridge  between  the  two  tow- 
ers, at  opposite  sides  of  the  moat, 
grated  and  ground  into  place  with 
loud  wails  from  rusty  hinges. 

Then  came  the  thud  of  a  single 
horse's  hoofs  on  the  cobble-stones 

[32] 


in  the  courtyard  and  on  the  bridge. 
They  broke  into  a  gallop  beyond. 

Elsbeth  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
listened  with  horror  in  her  eyes. 

''Mother!"  she  wailed.  "Moth- 
er, oh  Mother!" 

The  hoof-beats  continued,  grew 
fainter,  and  died  away  yonder 
where  the  forest  began. 

The  old  lady  rose.  She  was  very 
pale. 

''Daughter,"  she  said,  in  great 
pity  and  love,  "I  buried  five  child- 
ren, one  after  the  other,  before 
you  came  —  the  last  of  all  that 
were  given  to  me.  Can  you  doubt 
that  your  mother's  heart  is  open? 
—  No,  Elsbeth,  we  cannot,  must 

[33] 


not,  call  him  back.  Love  and  duty 
are  hard  masters,  but  each  time  we 
win  means  a  special  blessing  aris- 
ing for  us  —  here  or  beyond  the 
grave.  Come  to  me,  child,  your 
mother  will  smooth  your  path  of 
duty.  My  own  little  girl,  my  Els- 
beth,  —  hear  me!" 


[34] 


II 

[Extract  from  the  Necrologium 
Sanctae  Brigittae  Conventi,  prope 
Scanderborgum,  anno  Chris  ti 
1507:] 

Die  XV.  Aprilis,  Theodosia. 

Died  this  night,  in  the  XXX. 
year  of  her  life,  Sister  Francisca, 
previously  known  in  the  vain  and 
wicked  World  as  Elsbeth,  Niels 
Trolle's,  and  Dorotheae,  his  wed- 
ded wife,  their  daughter.  She 
lingered  in  our  midst  X  years  and 
LXI  days,  a  pattern  of  obedience 

[35] 


and  all  other  virtues.  And  this  is 
all  that  need  be  known  of  her,  for- 
asmuch as  no  better,  or  more  com- 
plete, witness  of  this  Sister's  life 
can  be  penned.  — But  as  I  was 
staying  with  her  in  her  last  hour, 
uttering  such  sacred  words  of 
grace  and  solace  as  our  blessed 
Order  prescribes,  and  she  had 
made  her  last  confession  before 
Christ  and  had  received  in  His 
Name  full  absolution,  and  also  had 
received  the  blessed  Sacrament, 
then  she  drew  from  her  bosom  a 
ring  of  gold,  shaped  as  a  fish,  with 
a  ruby  inserted  between  the  jaws 
of  that  fish;  which  ring  was  sus- 
pended about  her  neck  by  a  thin, 

[36] 


braided  gold  thread ;  and  she  passed 
the  ring  into  my  hands,  but  uttered 
no  word.  — She  was  buried  be- 
neath the  East  Wall  of  our  Chapel, 
in  the  coemeterium,  and  laid  to  rest 
in  the  robes  of  our  blessed  Order. 
—  Maria,  mater  dolorosa,  ora  pro 
nobis,  ut  coelestem  spectantes 
lucem  te  solam  et  filium  tuum 
JHesum  Christum  moriamur. 


[37] 


Ill 

Vincent  Steno,  Commandant  of 
Borglum  Castle  during  the  Swed- 
ish War  of  1658,  sat  in  his  library, 
writing,  as  two  soldiers  conducted 
a  prisoner  into  the  room.  One 
brief  moment  his  calm  gray  eyes 
scanned  the  group  —  the  two  stal- 
wart guardsmen  and  the  ragged 
peasant  boy  shifting  anxiously 
from  one  foot  to  the  other,  —  then 
he  went  on  writing. 

A  wild  commotion  outside 
formed  a  singular  contrast  to  the 

[38] 


seeming  quiet  within.  In  the 
courtyard  men  ran  to  and  fro, 
shots  rang  out  from  towers  and 
walls,  and  at  intervals  there  was  a 
deep  boom  of  cannon.  Impotent 
bullets  struck  the  walls  now  and 
then,  followed  by  the  rattling  of 
scattered  mortar  and  masonry. 

^^Magnus!"  said  the  Comman- 
dant. 

One  of  the  guardsmen  stepped 
forward. 

"You  will  take  this  letter  the 
moment  I  finish  it,  and  make  your 
way  through  the  secret  passage. 
Be  careful  about  closing  the  open- 
ing in  the  Hollow  Oak  in  Rold 
Woods.    Pile  earth  and  dead  twigs 

[39] 


upon  the  trap-door.  The  Germans 
will  have  seized  the  ferry  at  Hals. 
Get  a  boat  as  best  you  can  —  or 
swim  across.  You  will  reach  Es- 
kildstorp  before  dawn.  You  will 
deliver  this  letter  to  Mademoiselle 
Inga  —  personally.    Understand ?" 

The  man  nodded,  but  his  beard- 
ed face  expressed  some  doubt  or 
impatience. 

"What  is  it,  Magnus?    Speak." 

The  soldier's  immense  mous- 
tache moved,  and  his  voice  rolled 
across  the  room  like  a  hymn  from 
a  great  organ. 

"Permission  —  return  —  fight — 
gracious  Master!" 

"You  cannot  return,"  answered 

[40] 


the  Commandant.  "In  two  hours 
this  siege  will  be  decided.  In  five 
minutes  I  shall  be  at  the  walls  with 
the  men.  I  may  fall ;  but  this  mes- 
sage must  be  safe." 

Magnus's  face  was  immovable, 
but  sad. 

Again  the  goose-quill  moved 
across  the  parchment,  then  ceased 
with  a  flourish.  Steno  scanned  the 
letter:  — 

My  darling  Inga!  With  death 
and  destruction  drawing  toward  us 
from  all  sides  —  " 

"Who  is  this  prisoner?" 

"By  your  lordship's  gracious 
permission,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly 
stepping  forward,  "I  am  the  gard- 

[41] 


ener's  helper  at  Saint  Brigitta's, 
in  Scanderborg.  The  Mother  Su- 
perior is  sorely  troubled  by  the  ad- 
vance of  the  Swedes  and  Germans. 
A  detachment  of  dragoons  arrived 
yesterday  at  dawn  and  forced  en-  • 
trance  to  the  Convent.  They 
threaten  to  burn  the  place  unless 
money  and  —  " 

^'Be  brief!" 

"I  escaped  and  walked  all  night. 
This  morning  I  managed  to  swim 
across  the  moats  to  the  East  gate. 
As  I  climbed  the  wall,  they  took 
me.  They  think  I  am  a  spy.  — 
Our  dear  Mother  Superior  asks 
if  you  cannot  send  some  relief  to 
the  Convent." 

[42] 


"How  am  I  to  believe  what  you 
say?" 

The  boy  pulled  at  his  necker- 
chief, unfastened  something  from 
its  frayed  edge  and  laid  it  on  the 
table.  It  was  a  gold  ring  in  the 
shape  of  a  fish,  its  jaws  yawning 
over  a  ruby. 

Sir  Vincent's  hand  closed  me- 
chanically upon  the  gem.    He  did 
not  speak.     His  glance  wandered 
along  the  lines  of  his  letter:  — 
None  of  us  may  return  from  this 
rat-trap.    We  are  surrounded  on 
all  sides.    Our  orders  are  to  hold 
the  place  or  die,  and  not  to  sur- 
render on  any  account.    If  this 
should  he  my  last  opportunity, 

[43] 


/  commend  thee,  dearest  Heart 


A  boom  came.  There  was  a 
splintering  crash,  as  one  of  the 
leaded  windows  collapsed.  Vin- 
cent Steno  fell  forward,  over  the 
table.  The  cannon-ball  struck  the 
opposite  wall  and  shivered  it. 

Magnus  jumped  forward  with  a 
hoarse  cry  and  lifted  his  master's 
body  from  the  table.  The  head 
was  crushed.  The  right  hand  still 
held  the  letter,  now  crumpled  and 
spattered  with  blood.  The  sol- 
dier's immense  beard  moved,  and 
he  uttered  a  deadly  anathema  upon 
the  hated  enemies.  By  the  aid  of 
his  two  companions  he  lifted  the 

[44] 


body,  laid  it  on  the  table  and  cov- 
ered it  reverently  with  a  cloak.  He 
folded  the  letter  with  care  and 
stowed  it  away  within  his  spacious 
fur  cap, —  then,  turning  to  his  com- 
rade, he  said : 

'^Report  to  the  lieutenant.  I  go 
to  Eskildstorp.  If  relief  can  be 
obtained,  I  shall  bring  it.  — 
You,"  to  the  gardener,  ^^corne  with 


me." 


Two  hours  later,  when  the  siege 
was  over,  a  young  German  lieu- 
tenant strolled  into  the  Comman- 
dant's library.  Seeing  the  covered 
figure  on  the  table,  he  removed  his 
cap,  stepped  forward  and  drew  the 
cloak  back.     He  touched  lightly 

[45] 


the  dead  man's  hand  —  a  singular- 
ly beautiful  hand,  white  and  slen- 
der, seemingly  better  fitted  for  the 
pen  than  for  a  sword.  A  ring  fell 
from  the  impotent  grasp  of  the 
stiffening  fingers  and  rolled  out  up- 
on the  table.  The  lieutenant  picked 
it  up,  not  with  an  impulse  to 
rob  the  dead,  but  rather  as  if  taking 
charge  of  lordless  property,  for 
safe  keeping. 


C46] 


IV 

Inventory  of  the  property,  or 
Mobilia,  of  Lieutenant  Hans 
Adolph  von  Kratzenstein,  Lord  of 
Kratzenstein,  in  Silesia,  who 
served  with  the  Brandenburg 
Corps  during  the  War  of  His 
Swedish  Majesty  against  Den- 
mark, annis  1657- 1659,  ^^^  died 
anno  1691,  leaving  a  widow  and 
five  children. 

656  Flemish  Thalers,  in  specie. 

1494  Old  Bavarian  Marks,  in 
specie. 

[47] 


192  Danish  Rosenobles,  in 
specie. 

Two  pair  of  French  pistols, 
much  used. 

Six  Nuremberg  carbines,  in 
good  condition. 

One  pair  of  gold  spurs,  much 
worn. 

One  pair  of  steel  ditto,  rusty, 
useless. 

Eighteen  golden  goblets. 

Sixty  five  silver  ditto. 

Sundry  bracelets  of  gold  and 
silver. 

Sundry  and  several  rings,  not- 
ably one,  of  fine  French  gold, 
shaped   as   a   fish  with  open 

[48] 


jaws,  the  jaws  holding  a  large 
ruby. 

Three  coats  of  Kalemanke,  with 
a  lieutenant's  distinctions,  em- 
broidered in  silver. 

Eight  pantaloons,  several  much 
worn. 

Thirteen  waistcoats,  embroid- 
ered. 

One  cocked  hat,  with  gold  braid 
and  tassels,  tarnished  and 
frayed. 

One  gold  locket,  containing  a 
lock  of  hair. 

Odd  silver  and  copper  coin,  &c. 


[49] 


The  morning  of  the  first  day  of 
November,  in  the  year  1775, 
dawned  upon  the  ancient  city  of 
Lisbon  with  all  the  splendor  of 
sunshine  and  balmy  breezes  of  that 
favored  spot  and  clime.  Gay  chan- 
ties resounded  from  ship  to  ship 
along  the  stone  quays,  as  the  sea- 
men hurried  about  their  early  du- 
ties. Peals  of  sonorous  bells  rang 
from  lofty,  moss-clad  steeples  of 
churches  whose  foundations  seemed 
rooted  in  the  very  fundaments  of 

[50] 


the  Earth.  From  the  heights 
above  the  city  peasants  came  sing- 
ly, or  in  small  groups,  each  driv- 
ing before  him  dookeys  or  small, 
sure-footed  horses  almost  hidden 
beneath  huge  baskets  of  vegetables 
and  fruit. 

In  a  small  room  opening  upon 
a  veranda  in  the  upper  story  of  the 
historical  Escoban  Inn  on  the  edge 
of  the  City,  a  young  journeyman 
printer  awoke  from  his  sound 
slumbers  at  cock-crow.  He 
stretched  himself  lazily,  rolled  ov- 
er and  tried  to  sleep  again,  but  the 
call  of  morning  was  too  persistent. 
Gerhard  Kohl  was  the  young  jour- 
neyman's name;  he  had  come  from 

[51] 


the  ancient  city  of  Strasbourg,  and 
now  had  in  mind  returning  there, 
with  matured  ideas  of  a  larger 
world  and  with  acquired  skill  in 
ancient  Iberic  printing  houses, 
where  he  had  worked  for  more 
than  a  year.  We  have  his  own 
account  of  the  gruesome  happen- 
ings of  that  memorable  first  of  No- 
vember. 

"Knowing  that  my  mother  was 
anxious  to  see  me  settled  at  home,  I 
made  haste  to  complete  my  itin- 
erary. I  took  a  night's  lodging  at 
the  Escoban,  packed  my  valise, 
placed  it  in  my  room,  and  walked 
back  to  bid  a  final  good-bye  to  my 
master  and  his  kind  family.     On 

[52] 


my  return  to  the  inn  I  found  the 
big  bed  in  my  room  already  occu- 
pied by  a  traveler  who  snored  lust- 
ily as  I  entered,  but  woke  and 
asked  if  I  insisted  on  sleeping  in 
my  bed  alone;  if  I  did,  he  would 
make  himself  comfortable  with 
the  doormat,  his  valise  and  his 
cloak.  I  told  him  pleasantly  to 
remain  where  he  was,  as  the  bed 
was  large  enough  to  hold  seven 
of  us.  He  thanked  me,  and  I  lay 
down  beside  him,  put  my  watch 
under  my  pillow,  said  my  prayers, 
and  went  to  sleep  at  once. 

**I  woke  at  dawn  and  began  to 
dress.  But  imagine  my  consterna- 
tion on  finding  that  my  watch  no 

[S3] 


longer  was  where  I  had  put  it,  for 
safe  keeping,  as  I  went  to  sleep. 
My  bedfellow  also  was  gone.  I 
hurried  down  and  found  that  he 
had  departed  only  a  half  hour  be- 
fore, having  hired  a  donkey  to  car- 
ry him  up  the  mountain-pass.  I 
immediately  hired  a  horse,  bought 
a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  bottle  of 
wine,  and  set  out  in  pursuit. 

"Unforgettable  is  to  me  the  glor- 
ious morning,  the  vine-clad  hills, 
the  bright  sun,  the  birds  singing, 
the  eagles  soaring  way  above  the 
tree-tops.  As  I  rode  on,  I  frequent- 
ly turned  back  in  my  saddle  and 
refreshed  my  mind  with  parting 
glimpses  of  the  glorious  city.     I 

[54] 


recollect  thinking  that  probably  I 
should  never  see  it  again.  Alas, 
how  true,  for  as  I  reached  the  sum- 
mit and  paused  to  bid  a  last  fare- 
well to  Lisbon, —  the  city  was  there 
no  more. 

*Was  I  so  absorbed  in  thought, 
or  so  intent  upon  my  pursuit  of  my 
treacherous  companion,  that  I  had 
failed  to  hear  the  roar  of  the  awful 
catastrophe,  or  the  rush  of  the  wa- 
ters as  they  engulfed  the  lower 
part  of  the  great  town?  Could 
thousands  of  dwellings,  palaces  and 
churches  collapse  and  fall  into 
ruins  without  my  being  aware  that 
this  dire  disaster  took  place  al- 
most beneath  my  feet? 

[55] 


"I  cannot  say,  but  as  I  write  this 
account,  after  fifty  years,  only  this 
impression  remains,  that  one  mo- 
ment the  city  was  there,  and  the 
next  moment  it  was  gone.  Ruin 
and  wreck  marked  the  engulfed 
districts  as  far  as  I  was  able  to 
see, — yet  where  I  was,  the  sun 
shone  as  before,  the  foliage  waved 
before  the  breeze,  and  I  heard  the 
twittering  of  many  birds. 

^^I  was  roused  at  last  by  the  rec- 
ollection of  my  quest,  and  urged 
my  horse  forward.  Scarcely  had 
I  proceeded  a  half  mile  than  I 
became  aware  of  a  donkey  nipping 
the  scanty  grass  along  the  roadside 
a  little  way  ahead.    And  close  by, 

[56] 


leaning  against  a  rock,  was  my 
companion  of  the  night  before, 
quietly  eating  his  breakfast,  a  bot- 
tle of  wine  beside  him.  I  spurred 
my  horse  and  dashed  on,  drawing 
my  pistol  as  I  went.  He  scrambled 
to  his  feet,  drew  something  from 
his  pocket  and  threw  it  on  the 
ground,  whereupon  he  jumped 
over  the  rock  and  made  his  escape 
among  the  trees  and  boulders 
which  lined  the  roadside.  I  fired 
my  pistol  in  the  air  as  I  quickly 
reached  the  spot,  to  inspire  him 
with  a  wholesome  fear.  Then  I 
dismounted,  reloaded  my  pistol 
and  looked  about  me.  The  donkey 
went  on  grazing,  all  was  still.  And 

[57] 


there,  on  the  ground,  was  the 
treacherous  traveler's  hat,  his  va- 
lise, his  loaf  of  bread,  his  half 
emptied  bottle  of  v^ine;  also  a  silk 
kerchief  folded  and  tied  with  knots 
at  the  ends.  I  opened  this  package 
without  hesitation  and  found  that 
it  contained  some  trinkets,  a  silver 
snuff-box  —  and  my  silver  watch, 
still  ticking,  with  the  key  attached 
by  a  tiny  leather  thong.  I  put  it 
in  my  pocket,  with  a  grateful  feel- 
ing, because  this  watch  once  be- 
longed to  my  dear  father,  who  in 
turn  had  inherited  it  from  his 
father. 

*^No  thought  of  revenge  crossed 
my  mind.    But  I  drank  what  wine 

[58] 


the  miscreant  had  left  in  his  bottle, 
for  I  was  tired  from  the  ride  and 
the  excitement  of  the  morning. 

^'As  I  was  tying  the  kerchief,  in- 
tending to  leave  the  trinkets  with 
the  valise,  my  eye  was  arrested  by 
a  curious  ring  of  gold.  It  had  the 
shape  of  a  fish,  and  where  the  head 
and  tail  met,  the  jaws  were  opened 
to  the  point  of  yawning.  In  this 
opening  a  ruby  was  inserted.  The 
workmanship  was  very  old. 

^^This  ring  I  took  from  the  bun- 
dle, as  a  reminder  of  this  eventful 
and  fatal  day.  It  still  is  in  my  pos- 
session. 

*^I  pursued  my  way  without 
further  incident,  and  left  my  horse 

[59] 


at  the  first  inn  at  which  I  arrived. 
I  still  remember  the  name  of  the 
village.  It  was  Belehm.  Thence 
I  pursued  my  way  on  foot,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  rules  of  our 
guild.  Great  was  the  consterna- 
tion wherever  I  related  my  tale 
of  that  terrible  first  day  of  Novem- 
ber. On  my  arrival  at  Strasbourg, 
my  family  and  friends  hailed  me 
as  one  miraculously  escaped  from 
the  vengeance  of  the  Evil  One,  as 
indeed  I  was." 

Marginal  note  in  a  feminine  hand: 
''My   grandfather  told   me   that   he  re- 
turned and  looked  over  the  precipice,  before 
fleeing  in  terror. 

"Anna  K.  1810." 

[60]  '  , 


VI 

On  a  beautiful,  moonlit  evening 
in  the  year  1832  three  artists  met 
in  an  osteria  in  one  of  the  numer- 
ous by-streets  which,  at  that  time, 
connected  the  vast  expanse  of  an- 
cient thoroughfares  in  the  Eternal 
City  with  the  more  pretentious 
Piazza  del  Popolo.  The  preten- 
tions, however,  stopped  short  of 
street  lighting.  Outdoor  exercise 
in  the  Rome  of  those  days  required, 
when  extended  into  night,  a  lan- 
tern as  well  as  a  cloak;  and  a  handy 

[61] 


weapon  under  the  cloak  was  not 
to  be  despised,  for  the  National 
Guard  and  even  the  Papal  Guard 
patrolled  only  the  thoroughfares, 
and  that  with  long  intervals. 

The  three  artists  had  discussed 
the  ever-recurring  topic  of  the  de- 
plorable decay  of  contemporary 
art — a  condition  evident  to  every 
succeeding  generation.  They 
agreed  that  some  revival  was  nec- 
essary, some  new  principle  or 
method  must  be  developed. 

^The  secret  of  the  Classics," 
said  one,  ^4ies  in  the  grouping  of 
mass-effects.  They  chose  a  prin- 
ciple, or  unit:  the  circle  or  the 
square,  or  an  oval,  and  arranged 

[62] 


their  scenery  according  to  the  rel- 
ative importance  of  each  unit.  The 
result  is  that  you  may  cut  their 
work  into  fragments,  and  you'll 
find  each  fragment  a  perfect  piece 
of  art  in  itself." 

''But  that  is  not  the  only  thing." 
remarked  a  dark-haired  youth. 
''Look  at  William  Kohl's  hand 
there  on  the  table  —  keep  your 
hand  quiet,  William!  —  look  at  the 
contrast  between  the  red  ruby  of 
his  ring  and  the  dark  blue  of  his 
cloak  as  the  hand  rests  upon  it. 
Mass  your  materials  as  you  will, 
but  balance  your  red  and  blue. 
Even  the  ancient  potters  knew 
that.  Every  fragment  of  their  urns 

[63] 


and  vases  prophesies  the  gospel  of 
the  cardinal  colors." 

''Stendel  is  right,"  said  Kohl. 
^'But  so  is  everybody  who  takes 
notice  of  some  striking  trait  in  any 
of  the  great  masters.  The  chief 
question  is  to  apply  your  discovery 
to  your  own  work.  You  paint  what 
you  see,  and  as  you  see  it  at  the 
time.  You  don't  care  for  anybody 
else.  You  don't  even  care  whether 
you  reproduce  the  object  as  it  is. 
All  that  you  care  for  is  the  idea 
you  wish  to  bring  out." 

Stendel  sighed.  ^^Here  I  have 
spent  the  better  part  of  my  young 
life  trying  to  work  out  the  theory 
of  classic  drapery,"  he  said,  "only 

[64] 


to  find  that  any  beggar  in  Rome 
can  throw  his  cloak  over  his  left 
shoulder  in  a  way  that  defies  all 
my  powers." 

"Throw  on  your  own  cloak 
now,"  returned  his  friend,  "and  let 
us  go.  It  is  late,  and  the  Piazza 
del  Popolo  seems  rather  unsafe 
this  year." 

They  arose,  lighted  their  lan- 
terns, nodded  to  the  sleepy  host  who 
dozen  in  his  chair,  and  departed. 

The  Piazza  lay  before  them,  de- 
serted and  quiet,  moonlit  and  an- 
cient,—  ghostly  where  tall  pines 
rose  over  vine-clad  masonry  and 
cast  their  long  black  images. 

"Let  us  walk  with  William  as 

[65] 


far  as  the  guard  house  at  Ponte 
Molle,"  proposed  Robert  Sinclair, 
the  youngest  of  the  trio.  *^This 
place  is  anything  but  safe." 

But  Kohl  objected.  '^I  shall  not 
take  you  one  step  out  of  your 
way,"  said  he.  "Why,  I  might 
lie  down  and  sleep  safely  anywhere 
along  the  road." 

With  a  nod  and  a  friendly  word 
to  each  one  of  his  friends  he 
crossed  the  Piazza  and  proceeded 
along  the  Flaminian  Road  while 
Stendel  and  Sinclair  took  another 
direction.  The  fairy  shadows  of 
the  moonlight  once  more  were  in 
undisturbed  possession  of  the  old 
square. 

[66] 


Kohl  strode  on,  oblivious  of 
himself,  unconsciously  absorbing 
the  beauty  and  stillness  of  the  an- 
cient road.  Behind  low  walls 
loomed  the  graceful  outlines  of 
dignified  mansions,  blending  in 
perfect  harmony  with  the  shrub- 
bery and  surmounted  by  the  dark 
pillars  of  stately  pines  and  the 
wide  fans  of  spreading  acacias.  As 
he  drew  near  the  ruins  of  the  Cras- 
sianus  villa  he  suddenly  was 
roused  from  his  reverie  by  the 
feeling  that  something  was  at  his 
heels.  He  swung  about,  held  out 
his  lantern  —  and  smiled  to  him- 
self. A  big  cat  with  nocturnally 
lustrous  eyes  stood  within  the  light. 

[67] 


With  a  soft  purr  the  animal  in- 
sinuated itself  into  the  man's  fav- 
or, glided  back  and  forth  on  noise- 
less paws  and  crept  about  the  folds 
of  the  cloak.  Then  it  floated  away 
in  the  dimness  of  the  night  and 
disappeared  behind  a  large  barrel 
close  to  a  house  by  the  side  of  the 
road.  There  was  a  slight  rustle 
within  the  barrel,  immediately  fol- 
lowed by  a  scratching  and  a  sub- 
dued wail.  What  might  be  the 
trouble  —  had  the  animal  acciden- 
tally imprisoned  itself  in  the  bar- 
rel?      Kohl     drew     nearer     and 

peered  

At    that    moment    the    faintest 
sound  of  a  metallic  click  came  to 

[68] 


his  ears.  He  quickly  dropped  the 
lantern  and  drew  a  pistol  from  the 
pocket  of  his  cloak.  He  scarcely 
had  cocked  it  than  the  cover  of  the 
barrel  was  pushed  away  form 
within  and  a  jet  of  flame  flashed 
out  into  the  night.  The  young  man 
felt  a  sting  in  his  shoulder,  but 
managed  to  lift  his  weapon.  With- 
out taking  aim  he  fired  it  into  the 
barrel  almost  from  the  very  top. 
A  yell  broke  the  stillness,  then  all 
was  quiet  save  for  the  low  wailing 
of  the  cat  and  an  occasional  moan 
from  within  the  barrel. 

Two  hours  later  the  guardsmen 
from  Ponte  MoUe  found  the  young 
man,  wounded  and  unconscious,  in 

[69] 


the  road.  Close  by  lay  his  dis- 
charged pistol,  and  on  his  white, 
slender  hand  gleamed  a  gold  ring 
with  a  ruby.  It  was  a  heavy  ring, 
shaped  as  a  fish  with  its  jaws  wide 
open,  and  the  jaws  yawned  over 
the  sparkling  stone. 

In  an  empty  rain-water  barrel 
by  the  roadside  was  the  dead  body 
of  a  rough-looking  man,  a  dis- 
charged pistol  in  his  hand,  a  dis- 
consolate cat  softly  wailing,  hiding 
within  the  folds  of  his  blood-spat- 
tered cloak. 


[70] 


VII 

They  came  out  of  the  gate  near 
San  Paolo  fuori  le  mura  and 
strolled  along  the  friendly  road  — 
past  the  hedges  and  ruins,  past  the 
little  chapel  where,  according  to 
ancient  tradition.  Saint  Peter  and 
Saint  Paul  parted,  each  to  face  his 
own  martyr's  death. 

They  walked  hand  in  hand,  like 
children,  along  the  old,  grey  road 
which  runs  far  into  the  Campagna. 
But,  unlike  children,  they  had  lit- 
tle to  say  to  each  other. 

^This  is  the  place  where  I  first 

[71] 


saw  you,  Giovanna,"  said  William 
Kohl,  as  they  approached  a  bend 
in  the  road,  "and  here  we  will 
part." 

The  girl  withdrew  her  hand  and 
stopped. 

"You  will  go  back  to  your  peo- 
ple," continued  the  artist,  "and  I 
bid  farewell  to  Rome  to-morrow, 
with  my  picture.  I  owe  you  a 
world  of  gratitude,  little  one, — 
more  than  I  can  say — " 

She  looked  up,  and  he  stopped. 

"Maestro  has  been  most  kind  to 
us,"  she  said,  "My  father  repaired 
his  house  and  bought  two  more 
goats  with  the  money  I  earned." 

"But  I  owe  you  much  more  than 

[72] 


that,"  continued  the  artist  in  his 
precise  German  manner,  ^^because 
while  you  had  no  experience  in 
sitting  before  a  painter,  yet  you 
were  so  patient,  so  interested  in 
my  task,  that  I  was  bound  to  do 
good  work." 

'^Maestro  has  been  most  kind 
— "  repeated  the  girl,  her  lips  quiv- 
ering. 

"And  think  of  it;"  continued 
Kohl.  "A  king  kissed  your  hand. 
The  grand  Maximilian  of  Bavaria, 
who  wants  my  picture  for  his  great 
new  museum,  said  that  here  was 
at  least  the  real  Italian  peasant 
girl.  He  kissed  your  hand  as  an 
honor  to  all  Italy." 

[73] 


Giovanna's  eyes  shone,  but  she 
was  silent. 

"I  shall  see  you  every  time  I  re- 
turn to  Italy,"  returned  William, 
"and  I  want  you  to  remember  me 
as  a  friend  and  a  good  comrade. 
We,  have  been  good  comrades 
Giovanna,  have  we  not?" 

She  nodded  bravely,  but  her  race 
betrayed  itself,  and  tears  began  to 
fill  her  eyes. 

'^And  by  great  luck  we  did  not 
fall  in  love  with  each  other, 
Giovanna!" 

"Pietro  came  and  saw  me  every 
day,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  Pietro."    The  young  man 

[74] 


smiled.  *^He  never  trusted  me. 
He  came  to  sell  his  fruit  every  day 
—  and  to  get  a  smile  from  you." 
Growing  serious  as  he  looked  in- 
tently at  the  serene  beauty  of  the 
young  face  before  him,  he  added, 
lightly,  ^^An  artist  who  wants  to 
work  must  not  fall  in  love." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"But  now  that  we  are  going  to 
part,"  he  continued,  "I  wish  to 
give  you  something  as  a  remem- 
brance of  me."  He  drew  a  ring 
from  his  finger.  It  was  a  gold 
ring,  shaped  as  a  fish,  with  jaws 
yawning  wide.  The  jaws  held  a 
ruby,  and  its  dull  shimmer  came 

[75] 


and  went  with  the  flashes  of  sun- 
light through  the  hedge  along  the 
road. 

^This  is  an  old  ring,"  he  said, 
almost  solemnly.  "It  was  a  keep- 
sake in  my  family  for  almost  a 
hundred  years.  Take  it,  little  girl. 
The  stone  is  chipped,  but  the  gold 
is  as  pure  as  yourself.  I  painted  a 
great  picture,  they  say, —  but  you 
helped  me.  There  would  have 
been  no  picture  without  you.  May 
all  the  Saints  of  Heaven  protect 
you.    Addio!" 

He  closed  the  girl's  hand  over 
the  ring.  Her  little  brown  hand 
lay  in  his  white,  capable  palm  like 
a  child's  tiny  fist.     He  bent  over 

[76] 


and  kissed  the  little  hand  reverent- 
ly—  yet  as  self-possessed  and  calm 
and  unapproachable  as  the  great 
Maximilian  of  Bavaria  himself. 

^^Addio,  Maestro,"  returned  the 
girl.  ^*You  have  been  most  kind. 
I  shall  pray  to  our  dear  Mother 
every  night  for  your  welfare." 

She  walked  away  primly, 
stopped,  looked  back  and  waved 
her  hand  with  that  unconscious,  ex- 
quisite grace  with  which  every 
Italian  child  possesses  as  naturally 
as  the  color  of  eyes  and  hair.  And 
she  smiled  as  bravely  as  only  a 
woman  will  in  a  moment  of  dis- 
tress. 

"Addio!" 

[77] 


He  remained  where  they  had 
stood  together,  swinging  his  hat, 
until  she  disappeared  around  the 
bend. 

The  girl  walked  rapidly  along 
the  road  until  she  reached  the 
bend,  whence  she  waved  one  more 
greeting.  She  smiled  bravely  until 
the  foliage  hid  her  from  view, 
then  the  buoyancy  died  out  her 
step,  and  she  went  on  soberly. 
There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  still. 
There  were  more  tears  as  she  went 
on. 

A  gate  loomed  up  beside  the 
road.  Many  trees  waved  their 
crowns  beyond,  shading  the  roofs 

[78] 


of  a  group  of  houses,  white-walled, 
with  small  windows.  A  whiff  of 
the  odors  of  many  flowers  floated 
over  the  white  wall  and  stirred  the 
fringes  of  acacias  and  of  the  little 
ferns  in  the  crevices  of  the  mason- 
ry. The  gate  was  closed,  and  an 
old  bell-rope  hung  beside  it,  end- 
ing in  handle  shaped  as  a  cross. 

Giovanna  stopped  and  knelt  be- 
side a  shrine  in  the  wall  close  by 
the  gate.  As  she  said  her  prayers, 
she  fumbled  with  the  ring.  She 
rose  and  looked  about  her,  strug- 
gling between  a  fear  and  an  im- 
pulse. 

She  pulled  the  rope,  and  a  bell 
sounded  within.     She  waited,  her 

[79] 


hand  on  her  bosom,  tightly  clasp- 
ing the  ring.  Slow,  shuffling  steps 
approached  the  gate,  and  a  small 
grill  opened,  disclosing  the 
wrinkled  face  of  an  old  monk.  He 
looked  at  the  girl  without  a  greet- 
ing, immovable. 

"For  the  blessed  Lady  of  Tre 
Fontane,"  said  Giovanna,  reaching 
the  ring  toward  the  grill. 

The  monk  took  the  ring,  and 
held  up  his  hand. 

"Pax  tecum  et  benedictio,"  he 
said.  — And  the  opening  closed. 
The  ring  was  gone.  Only  the  od- 
ors of  Calla  and  Nerium  remained 
as  an  incense  from  the  pious  offer- 

[80] 


ing  of  the  jewel  to  the  glorious 
Mother,  the  merciful  Lady  of  the 
Abbey  of  Tre  Fontane. 


[8i] 


CONCLUSION 


CONCLUSION 

The  Abbot  of  Bethany  faced  his 
visitor  with  a  friendly  smile  as  they 
met  in  the  small,  but  lofty  study 
on  the  following  morning. 

"So  you  have  been  meditating 
on  the  chalice."  he  said.  "Well, 
meditation  is  part  of  our  business 
here.  Indeed,  I  have  done  a  little 
speculation  on  the  same  subject — 
and  what  do  you  think — our  gift- 
book  relates  something  about  the 
ruby's  history!" 

The  Abbot  rose  and  turned  to  a 

[85] 


recess  in  the  wall,  from  which  he 
drew  a  large  book  bound  in  im- 
mortal vellum.  — ^^This  is  our 
record  of  gifts,"  he  said.  "Let  me 
see—" 

His  strong  profile  bent  over  the 
book,  and  the  muscular  fingers 
turned  leaf  on  leaf. 

—  and  somehow  the  visitor  felt 
that  the  leaves  of  the  book  were 
symbolic  of  the  lives  that  went  in- 
to the  great  monastery  whose  aus- 
terity—  and  friendly  spirit — sur- 
rounded him.  Leaf  on  leaf:  life 
on  life;  consecrated,  fulfilled,  their 
destinies  attained. 

Then  the  Abbot's  sonorous  voice 
roused  him. 

[86] 


*^Here  is  the  entry,"  he  said. 
"  'A  ruby,  deposited  at  the  gate  on 
the  sixth  day  of  October,  1832,  by 
one,  Giovanna,  in  memoriam  Vir- 
ginis  Beatae :  A  gold  ring,  shaped 
as  a  fish  with  jaws  wide  open.  The 
jaws  enclosed  the  ruby  which  is 
slightly' —  ah !  — ^slightly  chipped 
at  one  side.'  The  gold  setting  was 
used  for  some  other  purpose,  but 
the  ruby  was  sent  to  us.  — The 
stone  was  injured,  then,  before  we 
obtained  it." 

The  visitor  nodded. 

*^You  see,  I  made  a  mistake  yes- 
terday," continued  the  Abbot,  ^4n 
suspecting  some  workman.  We 
shall  leave  the  jewel  where  it  is. 

[87] 


It  undoubtedly  came  from  the 
hands  of  a  penitent  sinner.  The 
sacred  use  of  her  gift  will  help  re- 
store her  peace  with  God." 
"She  must  be  dead  years  ago." 
"Probably,"  assented  the  Abbot. 
"Death  is  an  incident  —  like  this 
flaw  in  the  ruby.  The  main  thing 
is  that  just  as  this  chalice  derives 
its  dignity  from  its  use  —  just  in 
the  same  way  are  weak  and  sinful 
men  and  women  sanctified  by  the 
use  which  God  makes  of  their 
lives." 

"I  wonder  if  the  ruby  has  an 
interesting  history,"  suggested  the 
visitor.  "Now  that  we  know  the 
end,  it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to 

[88] 


know  the  beginning  also.  — This 
girl,  Giovanna,  now " 

The  Abbot  shook  his  head. 

'*We  can  make  no  mistake,"  he 
said,  ^*in  taking  it  for  granted  that 
she  shared  the  fate  of  this  ruby." 

**And  by  this  gift  she  surren- 
dered her  vanity,  perhaps,"  mused 
the  visitor,  ^^and  forgot — " 

*'She  did  that,"  assented  the  Ab- 
bot. ^Terhaps  more  than  that. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  very  precious  pos- 
session, but  she  could  not  sustain 
it.  I  venture  to  say  that  none  of 
all  those  who  ever  possessed  this 
ruby,  could  sustain  the  continued 
possession  of  it.  Still,  mankind 
goes  on  ransacking  the  world  for 

[89] 


such  things,  lay  their  hands  upon 
them,  obtain  them  —  keep  them, 
even  when  there  is  no  blessing  in 
the  winning  of  them.  But  when 
even  dead  things  need  to  be  con- 
secrated and  removed  from  the 
World,  can  you  doubt  that  men 
and  women  find  sustaining  peace 
for  their  souls  in  obeying  the  same 
law?" 

'^Still,  you  would  not  discourage 
the  healthy  ambition  of  making  use 
of  what  the  world  offers,  to  en- 
rich your  life, —  would  you.  Rev- 
erend Father?" 

The  Abbot  smiled.— ^^No,"  he 
said,  ^^not  if  you  put  the  question 
in  those  words.     But  surely,  that 

[90] 


is  obvious.  Now  if  you  train  your 
will-power  to  renounce  personally 
as  readily  as  you  accept  personally 
what  the  world  ofJers,  then  you  see 
the  problem  in  the  full  light  of 
truth.  Accept — oh  yes,  what 
would  we  not  accept!  Everything. 
Renounce, —  and  you  will  have 
eternal  possession  of  what  you  de- 
sired: that  is  another  lesson  which 
we  may  gain  from  this  chalice. 
The  chipped  ruby  confirms  the 
thesis." 


[91] 


■  ;;>  z? .  J\ 


'^'-''^■[i^'i^^^  . 


